


Something That Mattered, To Anyone

by lizzy_stardust_18



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Gen, alana is sad, also this is canon compliant sorry i love connor so much but i also love PAIN, and full of remorse, and just needs a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-11 22:36:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16861471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzy_stardust_18/pseuds/lizzy_stardust_18
Summary: Alana wondered if anything she’d done in high school really mattered. Was it worth it to be the valedictorian? Why give a speech that no one will listen to? Why speak when no one can hear you?





	Something That Mattered, To Anyone

_ Good evening, my fellow students. My name is Alana Beck and I am  _

 

Alana’s fingers paused on the keyboard. What was she? She was the valedictorian, that much was certain, she had a 5.0 GPA and a mile-long list of extracurriculars.  _ Student Council, internships, Key Club, Spanish Club, debate team, National Honors Society... _ she groaned in frustration and put her hands on either side of her head. She had thrown herself wholeheartedly into each and every one of those time-consuming, tedious activities, and she didn’t feel proud of a single one of them. Sure, she knew the objective value of each activity on a job application, but none of them could hope to fill Alana’s hollow sense of self-worth. Try as she might, she couldn’t ever make it stick in her mind that she had done something of value, because her brain took her achievements and put them through a metaphorical wood chipper, leaving her with nothing but sawdust when it was done. Alana wondered if anything she’d done in high school really mattered. Was it worth it to be the valedictorian? Why give a speech that no one will listen to? Why speak when no one can hear you?

 

There was only one time in Alana’s life that she had ever felt like anyone could hear her,  and that was during the inception of the Connor Project. That project, as misguided as it had ended up in the end, was the only thing that filled her with a sense of purpose. For once, she was doing something important. She was making a difference, or so she thought, at least. She sighed and dragged her hands down her face. She’d spent the past several weeks kicking herself for what happened after she published Connor’s suicide note. Sure, she’d known there would be risks, but she didn’t foresee the magnitude of the pain that the Murphys would go through as a result. She now knew that if she could go back and change it, she wouldn’t publish the note at all, but at the time she had been so caught up in the end goal that she lost sight of what the project was meant to do in the first place, and as a result she’d exposed an entire family to the worst of humanity.  _ Connor’s _ family, no less.  

 

She knew she hadn’t known him that well, no one did, and well, Alana didn’t really know  _ anyone _ very well, but Connor had been important to her. She couldn’t explain to people exactly why she cared so much about Connor Murphy’s memory because if she did, she’d expose her soft underbelly and risk everyone seeing just how much of a mess she really was under her tidy, organized exterior. But she’d liked Connor, for all his many shortcomings. She’d enjoyed his profane, sardonic humor and his purposefully-unkempt aesthetic that she wished she could pull off herself, but the real reason that Connor Murphy was important to her was a moment back from junior year, a memory that she safeguarded like a glass jar with one solitary firefly in it. 

 

_ She was at the end of her rope. She hadn’t gotten enough sleep in weeks. She was running on coffee, but she was running out of even that because her thermos kept spilling and people could see and smell it and it was humiliating and oh  _ God _ how would she get the stains out of her backpack this was a disaster. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking. This was it. This was her breaking point. This was where she came apart at the seams.  _

 

_ She pulled out her Macbook and shakily opened a document. “To whom it may concern,” she began, “I don’t think I can carry on anymore. I feel so alone all the time. Everytime I try to talk to someone, it feels like I am following a script. I wonder everyday if anything I do matters. If  _ I _ matter at all. If anyone would miss--” _

 

_ She heard a noise behind her and jumped. She turned around and saw Connor standing behind her, reading over her shoulder.  _

 

_ “Oh, Connor, I-I didn’t see you there.” She put a hand on her screen. “Please don’t read that.” He didn’t listen. “It’s for a project. For psychology,” she said helplessly. He pursed his lips and fixed her with a stare.  _

 

_ “Alana, what the hell?” he said, scoffing in disbelief, but it wasn’t hostile. “You really feel like this?” She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she turned away from him. He gently grabbed her shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “Look, if  _ you _ can’t do anything that matters, then the rest of us are royally fucked.” He gave a small nervous chuckle, but she didn’t have it in her to respond. She just looked down at the desk, tears streaming down her face now. She folded her arms on the desk and put her head down on top of them to hide her face.  _

 

_ “Shit,” she distantly heard Connor say. She sobbed. Everything was falling apart. She was drowning in negative thoughts, with one thought overtaking the rest: It’s never going to get better. It’s never going to get better. This is all there is. This is all I’ll ever be. No one knows me. No one-- _

 

_ She was broken from her reverie by a hesitant tap on her shoulder. She looked up and saw Connor had returned. He was holding a box of tissues, which he awkwardly thrust toward her. She stared at him, dumbfounded. He shifted his weight uncomfortably before opting to pull out the chair next to her and plop down beside her. He put the tissues on the desk and pushed them in her direction.  _

 

_ “Do you like...wanna talk about it?” He sounded hesitant, as though he didn’t exactly know what to say. Alana wasn’t sure if she’d know what to say either if she saw herself, to be honest, especially if she looked like as much of a wreck as she felt.  _

 

_ “I just um--” she blew her nose and let out a small sob. “I just feel so lonely all the time, like I talk to people but they blow me off or don’t really listen? Like I annoy everyone. Like nothing I do matters to anyone. And I’m just so tired of it, I’m so stressed and I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.” She wept softly into the tissue. “I have no friends. All I have is my activities, and those are so fucking stressful and I can’t...I can’t deal.”  _

 

_ “That’s fucking rough,” Connor said. She nodded and wiped at her face in a fruitless effort to stop the tears, but they continued to flow even more intensely. Connor didn’t say anything else to her, he just sent furtive glances from beneath his bangs in her direction as she wept. Eventually she cried until her throat felt raw and she couldn’t physically produce tears anymore. She wiped off her face and realized with dismay that the box was now empty.  _

 

_ “I used all of the tissues,” she said apologetically.  _

 

_ “Oh no, how will the freshmen  _ ever _ jerk off now?” Connor said drily, and Alana burst out into a fit of helpless, broken giggles. He flashed her a rare smile, which lingered for a moment before his expression twisted into one of concern again. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked gently. She nodded, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by the shrill ring of the bell signaling the end of class. He jumped at the sound and then stood up so fast that his bag swung as he picked it up. She stayed in her seat, and he reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder. She looked up at him imploringly. “Hey um,” he gestured as though he was trying to find the right words. “You...you matter, alright? Just--remember that. You’re great.” He gave her shoulder an awkward pat before apologetically turning to walk out of the classroom, giving her a small wave as she did so.  _

 

_ She took a deep breath and collected herself. The misery was still settled inside of her like a stone in her stomach, but it was more manageable now, like someone had opened a window and let in a bit of light. She could do this. She could get through the rest of the day. She highlighted all of the text in the document and deleted it, leaving the document blank and her slate clear.  _

 

She never told anyone about that moment because how do you explain that story without admitting you were writing a  _ suicide _ note? She hadn’t told the Murphys anything about it when she met them, even though they probably would have loved to know something good about Connor. She knew they’d press her for details if she did tell them, and then the truth would come out and the image that she had worked so hard to perfect over the years would be shattered, and she’d be left far more alone than before.  _ But if you never reach out, you’ll always be alone, Lonnie,  _ a voice that sounded distinctly like her grandmother’s chided her from within her head.  

 

She groaned and stared blankly at the one line of text written on her screen. She had less than a week to write this godforsaken speech, and for the first time in four years of high school, Alana found herself unable to resist the urge to procrastinate. She sighed and switched tabs, looking for something with which to distract herself. She scrolled through Netflix, (her list was mostly documentaries and Cosmos with Carl Sagan) but nothing she usually watched held any appeal for her. She clicked on a random suggestion for a soap opera and sat back in her chair, succumbing to the mindlessness of the activity. She knew it was a bad idea to relax in the same area where she studied, since she’d read once that it’s bad for study habits, but she couldn’t really find it within herself to give a shit at that moment. 

 

Her phone chimed with a new notification. It was probably another meme from Jared. The two of them had established a fragile sort of (friendship? acquaintanceship?) after Evan screwed both of them over. Alana wasn’t  _ nearly _ as invested in Evan Hansen as a human being as Jared was, in fact she wasn’t sure she cared much for him at all, but she managed to work up enough ire against him to hold her conversations with Jared for prolonged periods of time. She could tell, however, that Jared was hurt in a different way than she was, and that there was something much deeper beneath his anger. She wished she could do something to help him, but she didn’t honestly know what she’d be able to do. She liked Jared well enough, but she didn’t exactly  _ get _ him as such. She didn’t have a lot in common with him, so a number of their conversations consisted of sending each other jokes that they knew the other wouldn’t understand, but she enjoyed talking to him nonetheless. She’d stayed up several nights after the fallout with the Connor Project talking to him and ranting with him about how fucked up the situation was. Alana felt used, Jared felt gutted, and together they exchanged profanities until they were both too tired to curse anymore. She didn’t swear very often, but with Jared it felt appropriate to do so. 

 

She opened her notifications and was surprised to see that it was not, in fact, a meme from Jared, but a text from the very last person she wanted to talk to right then. 

 

**Message from Evan Hansen:** Hey, can we talk sometime? I wanna apologize to you, but I want to do it in person. 

 

Alana scoffed. Did Evan really think he could just  _ fix _ this after what he did? Did he think an apology would help at this point? She had half a mind to simply leave him on read, or send him a paragraph telling him exactly where he could put his apology, but she decided against both of those options. She sighed. Did she really want to hear Evan’s apology? A large part of her said no, Evan had done enough damage and he should just leave her life for good, but a small, nagging part of her mind whispered that it would be extremely satisfying to see Evan’s attempt at contrition. 

 

**Message to Evan Hansen:** Meet me at Starbucks at 10:00 tomorrow morning. 

 

Not even bothering to see if he could make that time, she turned off her phone and plugged it into its charger. She switched the tabs on her computer and took one last despairing look at the speech before sighing and turning off her computer as well. She wouldn’t be able to finish that speech anytime soon. She might as well sleep on it to try to get some inspiration. 

 

\--

 

Ten o’clock the next morning came way too early for Alana’s liking, and she begrudgingly made her way over to the Starbucks, a nervous feeling settling in her gut. She knew this would be awkward and painful to discuss, but it would also be necessary. She stepped into the crowded throng of hipsters and sorority girls and deeply inhaled the scent of brewing coffee. That was the best thing about meeting here: they could discuss their issues with a nice scent in the air. Alana always thought smell was important, it was why she carried three different types of deodorant and scented hand sanitizer with her at school every day, just in case she smelled bad after power walking down the halls. 

 

She spotted Evan sitting at a small couch by the window. She was grateful that he’d  picked a spot that was far secluded from the crowd, since something told her that the two of them would need the privacy. She tilted her chin up and clenched her fists at her sides, walking purposefully over to Evan. He caught sight of her and gave her a small smile. 

 

“Um, hey Alana,” he said. 

 

“Hello, Evan,” she said coolly. 

 

“Um, did you want something to drink? I bought two lattes but I wasn’t sure if you like lattes and so I just guessed what you might want but if you don’t like it I can buy you something else,” he rambled. She was touched by the gesture, but she didn’t want to let it show on her face. She extended her hand. 

 

“The latte is fine, thank you.” He handed it to her with his head down, like a frightened dog putting its ears and tail down to show subordinance. She took a sip and tried not to grimace. It was too bitter for her liking, and she made a mental note to add another packet of sugar when she got the chance. “So,” she said, taking a seat beside Evan on the couch and sitting up straight, crossing her legs. “What did you want to say?” 

 

Evan took a deep breath and adjusted his hoodie. He was always drenched in sweat, Alana noted. She thought it was a miracle that he didn’t grow mildew from being so damp all of the time. “I just wanted to say that um, what I did was a real dick move, and I didn’t consider your feelings at all and I should have, and I was just, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have uh, used you the way I did.” 

 

Alana nodded. “Go on,” she said. 

 

“And I’m sorry for insulting you and implying that you didn’t care about the project. I know it meant a lot to you.” 

 

“More than you know,” she remarked morosely. 

 

“But um, I also asked you not to publish his suicide note, and you did anyway,” he said, and she pursed her lips, feeling her shoulders tense. Was he of all people going to make her justify herself? “And the Murphys were harassed by thousands of people.” 

 

It was as if he’d taken a hammer to her sternum.  “I never meant for them to get hurt,” she said weakly, her voice straining. Her knuckles tightened around her coffee cup. “I just--it was so important that we meet that goal and I felt like we had to resort to any means necessary to meet it.” 

 

“But at what cost, Alana?” 

 

“Fifty thousand dollars that you didn’t help me raise!” she snapped. “That was the cost!” You used me, Evan, and you bailed when you were actually needed. Didn’t the project mean anything to you?” 

 

“It meant everything to me!” Evan said, his face reddening. “God, you think I started it for-for what? For fun?” He sighed and pinched his nose between his fingertips. “Look, I’m sorry I put you through all that. I was very stressed at the time, and while that wasn’t an excuse for what I said or how I neglected the project, it’s a reason.” 

 

Alana scoffed. “ _ You _ were stressed? How do you think  _ I  _ felt? Especially given that you didn’t help me at all! You left me to do all of the work for a project that you started. I would  _ think _ ,” she said, lowering her voice, “that of all people who would actually dedicate themselves to preserving Connor’s memory, wouldn’t his  _ best friend _ be the first person to do that?” She put extra emphasis on the term ‘best friend’, her voice dripping with venom. Her words struck a nerve with him, clearly, because his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Anger and something else (guilt? hurt?) sparked in his eyes and he lowered his tone to match hers. 

 

“I did the best I could,” Evan said, “forgive me for not-not being valedictorian or for not being able to be on top of things all the time like you are, but I tried, damn it. My life got in the way, but please,” his tone softened, “please remember that I did care. About the project. About the Murphys. About,” he gestured weakly, “all of it.” 

 

Alana was silent. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Something shaped distinctly like a sob was creeping up her throat, and she refused to let it out around Evan Hansen.  _ Breathe, Lonnie, you’re alright, sweetheart.  _ She took a deep breath and bunched her hands in the material of her pant leg, her knuckles turning white. She looked down at the floor. “I’m not, you know,” she said, her voice wavering. 

 

“Not what?” 

 

“On top of things all the time. I do a lot of extracurriculars and such but,” her vision swam and she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes to keep the tears from flowing, “I feel like everything is spiraling out of control all the time, and I can’t help anyone, I can’t do anything that matters, and this, the Connor Project,” she wailed, “it was the only thing I ever did that was important.” The tears began to flow in earnest and there was nothing she could do to stop them. His hand awkwardly made its way to her shoulder, and she didn’t try to push it off. If she let it stay there, maybe she could open her eyes and there would be another boy standing there, patting her shoulder, holding a box of tissues, telling her that she mattered, that she was great. An ache settled in her chest and she felt a fresh wave of tears roll down her cheeks. Evan patted her shoulder again, and she leaned into it a little. Realizing that Evan was not going to say anything, she continued to speak, drawing in a gasping breath before she did so. “That’s-that’s why I did everything I did, releasing the-the letter, raising all that money for the orchard. Cause I-I really did understand Connor. God, I really understood how he felt. But I never wanted to hurt anyone, least of all-” she choked up and buried her face in her hands. “-the Murphys.”  

 

This time, Evan moved with a sense of urgency, forgoing his awkwardness in favor of wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. Her shoulders stiffened in surprise but after a moment she hugged him back, sobbing hard into his shoulder. She opened her eyes a crack, wondering if anyone was watching, but no one was paying them any attention. She squeezed her eyes shut tight once more and wept quietly, holding onto him as if for dear life. He rubbed her back gently, and she dimly registered that his hoodie smelled nice, like cologne and laundry detergent, but with a trace of a skunky scent beneath it that clearly wouldn’t ever wash out.

 

She pulled back a little and swiped furiously at her eyes. “I’m sorry for completely losing my mind like that,” she said, trying to return to her usual composed state. 

 

“It’s okay,” Evan said, patting her shoulder again. “I’m so sorry, Alana, I wish--I wish you never had to feel that way. You don’t deserve it.” 

 

She gave him a watery smile. “It’s okay,” she said. 

 

“It’s not,” he persisted. “You’re a good person, Alana, and all you ever tried to do was help people, and I’m so sorry you’ve ever had to feel so friendless. But you--everything you do is important. You make an impact in the world and people can see it. And you really have helped people. Remember that.” His eyes were so earnest, so full of emotion that she had to look away. She felt a lump rise in her throat again, but this time no tears came. 

 

“Thank you, Evan,” she said, smiling and straightening her posture. He returned the smile and the moment hung in the air before either of them spoke again. “I wish  _ he _ was still here,” Alana said morosely, looking down at her hands. 

 

“Me too,” Evan said, his voice pained. “I wish that more than anything.” He touched his left arm. “Sometimes I really feel like I understand him too.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze before letting go and straightening up. 

 

“We really tried to do something for him, I think,” she said. 

 

Evan nodded. “It was mostly for us, I think, but it was also for him.” 

 

“It was for everyone. And no one.” 

 

Evan nodded in agreement. They sat there for a moment, neither really looking at the other or at anything in particular, before Evan piped up again. “Alana, can we be friends?” he asked. She looked up at him in surprise. 

 

“Yes,” she said, smiling widely, but not in the way she usually did, with intent to dazzle anyone she interacted with, but rather in a very awkward and real way. “Yes, we can be friends. I’d like that.” 

 

“Okay,” he said with a grin.

 

They talked a little longer before Evan announced that he had to leave for work. He gave her a brief hug before he left, and she settled back down on the couch, sipping her too-bitter latte, alone with her thoughts. She felt the beginnings of inspiration strike her, and she eagerly pulled up the notes app on her phone to write down her ideas before she forgot them. She knew exactly what she would do for her speech. 

 

\--

_ My name is Alana Beck, and I am not alone, and neither are any of you.  _


End file.
